


Acid Rain

by RyloKen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bittersweet Ending, How Do I Tag This, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pretty Tragic Ending Actually, The Author Regrets Everything, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyloKen/pseuds/RyloKen
Summary: When their eyes meet again, they both know, without doubt, that this is it.





	Acid Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This literally came out of left field for me while I was listening to A7X during work. I thought it would be this sad little thing but kind of cute and then I started writing it and by the end I was crying and thinking to myself; "What the fuck have I done?"
> 
> I hope this is okay, it's my first posted fic for not only this ship, but this fandom. Hopefully it won't be the last.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it for what it is. Tissues for all, and giant hugs too. Also, a quick shout out to kyluxtrashcompactor for reading over this and giving me the confidence needed to actually post it. It really means a lot to me that you helped me, even if MCD is not your cup of tea. Thank you <3
> 
> I'll link below the song that inspired this little one-shot, and that helped ruin me while I wrote it. It's a beautiful song, and fits perfectly, I think, with this pairing. I highly recommend giving it a listen.

 

_  
.·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·._

  _We stand on the edge now_  
_We've come so far_  
_Through all the dust it becomes clear_  
_You will always be my heart_

  _There's no death, no end of time when I'm facing it with you_

  
[Acid Rain - Avenged Sevenfold](https://youtu.be/9frbRzBz0r8)

.¸¸.·´¨ _·. .·:*:·. .·_ ´¨`·.¸¸.

 

 

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

They were supposed to win, they were supposed to bring order to a galaxy on the brink of tearing itself apart.

They were supposed to be – be happy, be together, be _more_.

It’s too much like the fall of Starkiller Base; snow falls thick, turns his breath to mist and freezes his lungs, it hurts just enough to let him know he’s still alive, still moving on legs that scream, still searching with eyes that refuse to see – _must find Ren._

It’s cold, impossibly so, cuts through the fabric of his greatcoat and leaves him shivering as he rushes through the chaos; red cuts the glare of the sun off of pure white, drips into his vision from a cut he no longer feels, leaves him wobbly but he pushes onward – _must find Ren_.

Stormtroopers litter the frozen woods, felled where they fought between sky-high pines and resistance puppets; bodies in the way, obstacles’ keeping him back, away, it hurts to breathe, to taste defeat on air that’s too thin, too much copper.

He no longer hears the war waging around him, the yells of battle, the screams of pain; too much, too loud, can’t keep it out, have to, it seeps in anyway, leaves him numb, leaves him afraid – _where is Ren?_

When he breaks through the forest, stands at the edge of a frozen lake, he sees, through tears that turn to ice on his frost burned cheeks, he sees; bodies in pieces, burned in halves and cut away from living, wounds left hot, no blood, death, can taste it on the wind – _Ren!_

He rushes forward, never takes his eyes off of his fallen knight, never takes his eyes off the pool of red he’s sleeping in.

The girl is belly-down in the snow, face turned to stare out with eyes void of living; features once twisted in rage, blue lightsaber aimed his way, warning, drawing closer, all but on his flesh but for the crackling of blaring red, the clash of weapons of legend – _his Ren._

He ignores her, ignores the pieces of her that litter the lake and bring no small amount of pride to his trembling heart. He hits the ice hard, feels the pain shoot up through his legs and into his spine but it’s nothing compared to the claws that dig into his chest, curl cold and sharp around his heart and dig in, drag out, up, threatening to rip from his chest through his throat – please _not Ren._

He’s unresponsive, slack in the General’s arms as he drags him up, over, onto the folded lengths of his lap. He cradles his helmeted head, searches with trembling fingers for the latches that will let it loose, free the man that remains within.

The first sight of him stills his breath, stills his heart, sets his hands to trembling as he touches slender fingers to pale cheeks and lightly pats; “Ren, wake up. This is no time for a nap, get up!”

The fear settles in, eats away at his resolve, his nerve, turns to shaky breaths and tears he won’t admit to crying. There is nothing beneath his touch but white, no warmth in his flesh, no gentle pull of muscles to form infuriating smirks and secret smiles. There is nothing to stare into, the warmth of his gaze lost behind pallid lids that don’t so much as flicker or shift or open; “Open your eyes, Ren, _please_.”

His chest aches, alerts him to the air he’s not breathing, the sobs drawn out as emotions he never allowed himself to feel break loose, rip him down and eat him alive.

Snow dusts his hair, disheveled and a copper halo in a world of whites and blacks and the very dark red of too much death. The vale the lake resides in echoes with his anguish, carries it away on whipping flurries and cutting winds.

He doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything but the pain, until the hand in his hair shifts, pushes back, draws him down, down, down and into a kiss that tastes of blood and _victory._

He cradles him close, breathes life back into him and uses what little strength he has left to pull his fallen knight from his sprawled rest. Blood stains the ice beneath him, steadily pools around their knees as they shift, draw close, hold tight – _don’t let go_.

He searches with oddly steady hands, seeks out what he doesn’t truly want to find, yet finds all the same. The cut is wide, deep and all but severing his knight in two. Their eyes meet, resignation swimming behind a pain he won’t pretend he can understand. He presses his hand to the wound, presses firm and shifts closer, wraps an arm around too-broad shoulders and presses their foreheads together; “You’ll survive this, you’ve survived worse.”

His knight laughs, a deep and broken thing that sends sparks shooting up his spine and tears pooling in his vision. It turns to sopping coughs, lungs too-full of blood that splatters the backs of his teeth and drips from his pouty lips.

Those resigned eyes slip closed, pinched and tired and lost to him, and he panics, presses closer until they’re all but entirely one; “Ren, don’t you dare. You have to hold on! I’ll get you out of here and we’ll get you patched up. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare or so help me, I will kill you myself.”

He laughs again, opens those beautiful eyes of his and for a second, just a second, the pain is gone, replaced with a mischief only he knows, a love that only they share.

It breaks him, blurs his vision, burns his throat with the lump that forms. He pushes it down, away, locks it in the back of his soul with the rest of the feelings he won’t ever acknowledge again, and presses harder on a wound that won’t stop weeping, a wound that turns his hand red and taunts him with what he knows he’s losing.

His knight nuzzles him, nose cold as he presses forward, presses in and inhales slowly; “You should have run, Hux.”

He scoffs, offended and appalled at the very thought, the very notion that he would leave when everything he has, everything he holds most dear, is right there in front of him. He nuzzles the other back, roughly, bites his jaw just a little in reprimand and clings to him tighter; “ _Idiot_. As if I could leave you behind. No, knowing you, you’d haunt my every waking minute with your obnoxious Force-Ghost – and I have no doubt you’d be far worse in death than you are now.”

He smiles, a weak and pale imitation of what usually graces his handsome face, and then coughs up blood enough to fill a goblet.

The General holds him through it, thinks not at all of the blood on his hands, the blood on his body, the blood still lingering on his tongue from a kiss that will haunt him so long as he lives.

It grows quiet but for the distant cry of battle, the gentle calling of the wind as it curls snow around them and dances away again.

The knight shifts, straightens as much as he can with his chest cleaved half-open and touches the General with an all too familiar grip of long fingers against his jaw; “You have to go, Hux. If they find you–”

He cuts him off, steals his treacherous words with a press of lips and teeth and a desperate need to devour what’s left of them. He chokes down his sob, pushes down his fear, and meets the others eyes; “For once in your life, Ren, don’t fight me on this. I’m not going anywhere and that’s final. Deal with it.”

“Hux–”

He steals another kiss, silences the knight until the words are forgotten and touch is all they know. He lifts his hand from its place at his torn chest, touches bloodied fingers to high cheekbones and pale skin, and smiles their secret smile; “Don’t you get it, Ren? Whatever path you walk, you never walk it alone. I am always at your side.”

He coughs up more blood, sucks in wet breaths that leave him as quickly as he chokes them down, and when their eyes meet again, they both know, without doubt, that this is it.

They waste no more time on trying to stem the bleeding, weakened heart pumping free what little is left, and with a press of foreheads, faces close, they share a quiet breath in a world that never accepted them or what they shared.

His voice is barely strong enough to cut through the cry of the wind, the echo of blasters and the rush of boots that draw ever closer; “You deserved better than this, Armitage. I wish I could have given you the galaxy you wanted.”

It hurts him, tears down every wall he’s ever built, tears down the last of his pride, the last of his strength, and sees him wilting like a flower too long from the sun. He clings to the fallen knight, arms cradling his lilting head as much to hold him close as to hide his tears in the wispy black of his so-soft hair.

His voice, always so strong and full of conviction, is altogether meek. It’s the voice of a man with nothing left but what he holds in his arms, the voice of a man on the edge of a dark abyss he knows holds nothing but the end. He speaks, words low and meant for only them, and presses them against the ear of the only one who ever dared to look beyond the monster he’d turned himself into; “ _Idiot_. Stupid, blind, foolish Knight of Ren.”

He pulls away, cups the knights face and kisses him, a soft ghosting of lips against lips, eyes fluttering with the gentleness of the gesture. He shivers, feels the shift in the wind, the shift in the man before him, and meets his gaze, holds it; “Ren, my beautiful _Kylo_. You already did.”

It hurts him in a way he never thought possible to see such _relief_ on the other man’s face, muscles loosening as if a weight has finally been pulled free from his shoulders. He sighs under it, suddenly appears so much younger than he is. The scar no longer fits his features, cuts through the handsomeness of a young man free of guilt, free of pain, free of longing for something he thought impossible to attain.

He looks younger, fragile, and yet altogether so tired that it hurts to keep him from his final slumber. But he is selfish, uncertain of what awaits beyond that final leap into the embrace of darkness. He wants it to last for as long as possible, to have this moment last for all the ages of every life time.

He doesn’t want to lose him.

His thoughts are pulled from him by coughing, the choking wet of it echoing in the valley as death curls it’s fingers around the very soul of the one he loves. He clings to that last shred, cups that youthful face and tries to keep him there with him, if only for a moment longer.

When it takes too long to pass, passes only a second before each breath becomes a struggle, he knows there is nothing left to do but embrace death with him.

The knight shifts, body weakened to a point where each small movement drains what little is left, and sets his lightsaber in his lap.

Their eyes meet, hold for such a length of time that everything else slips away.

_I can’t. I’m not strong enough._

He places his hand over the blackened hilt, curls his frozen fingers around it resolutely and gives a small nod.

_Rest now, sweetheart. It’s my turn to be the strong one._

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but as he settles against his lover, as he hides the last of his tears against the line of his throat, as he feels hands hold him close with a sudden strength that warms him through and burns away the fear, he knows it never could have ended any other way.

The wind shifts around them, ghosts over them with a gentle whisper of touch as he inhales and lifts his hands, turns the hilt in his grasp and holds it steady, holds it true.

He hesitates only a moment, closes his eyes and sees them not in the frozen wasteland of some long-forgotten planet but everywhere they’ve ever been; each touch, each taste, every hidden smile and whispered secret, all the long months they spent curled around each other, held firm, held soft, locked in an embrace that warms him through now as the world slips away.

He doesn’t hear it ignite, doesn’t feel it consume; a final gift from the greatest man he’s ever known.

They fade from existence lost in their memories, entwined in body and mind and spirit.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but as the life leaves him, as that final slumber claims them both and welcomes them into the unknown beyond, he smiles.

He wouldn’t change a thing.


End file.
